f treating the matter lightly, assuring
her that what the women had said was of no importance whatever. Then he
knew there was only one course open to him, and he met sincerity with
sincerity, candour with candour.

"It would be very easy for you to do a little reading," he said quietly.
"Of course a literary man like Mr. Rose forgets that everyone has not
his fine taste in books; and on the other hand, it is very easy to
acquire a liking for poor stuff. But there are lots of authors who would
delight you with their books, and if I can give you any help I shall be
charmed to make you out a list."

"Will you?" Her eyes lighted up for a second. "There are hundreds of
books in the house--the library is supposed to be rather remarkable, you
know, and I expect lots of the books you mean are there."

"I've no doubt of it." He remembered hearing of the unique collection
which Greenriver housed. "Tell me what sort of books you like? Travel,
history, romance--what?"

The light died out of her eyes.

"I don't know." Her voice sounded flat. "I don't think I like anything
much--except stories. Novels, I mean," she added hastily.

"Well, there are plenty of very fine novels," he said cheerily. "And no
one need be ashamed of liking that form of story-telling. I always fail
to understand the attitude of the person who says 'I _never_ read
novels!' as though he were claiming a tremendous superiority, whereas
he's only showing himself a narrow-minded and unimaginative person!"

"But reading novels won't make me clever?" said Toni rather wistfully.

"Well, probably not, if you read nothing else," he owned. "But there is
plenty more stuff for you to read. What about poetry?"

She shook her head.

"Well, you'll soon get to like it," he said smiling. "You needn't flesh
your maiden sword in Browning, you know. Anyway, I will send you a list,
shall I?--of books that I think you'll like. Can you read French?"

Blushing, she confessed her inability to do more than recognize a French
quotation here and there; and a new thought filled her mind.

"Do you think if I were to study French, Mr. Herrick? I've got all my
old books, and I could do an exercise every day."

Herrick was half inclined to smile, but she was so desperately in
earnest that he refrained.

"A capital plan," he said heartily, thinking to himself that the harder
she worked the less time she would have for fretting.

"And if I got to know more poetry I might be able